


For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-02
Updated: 2008-08-02
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: A legal/etymological discussion gone horribly wrong… or right…





	For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the great Fanfic Fuck Off (hahaha) of 2008.
> 
> Number of 'fuck's (or variants thereof): 26. I'm not sure I have it in me to do another one with more, however.
> 
> If that word, or the activity describing that word, offends you, then fuck off. ;)

"I have a question for you."

"Hm?"

Mark continued working at his desk in his office, jotting notes in the margin of Jeremy's printed-up brief for Monday. Bridget had come to meet him there so they could head out together for dinner nearby, but he'd gotten so close to finishing that he begged her for a little more time to do it. He hated keeping her waiting but she seemed fine, occupying herself by browsing through his books.

"It's even legal in nature," continued Bridget.

He looked up, raising a single eyebrow. She'd come to perch on the corner of his desk, to his right; he hadn't noticed previously the short, black, knit skirt, the bare legs. "Taking an interest in legal studies, are you?"

She smiled playfully. "You could say that."

"Bridget," he said impatiently, continuing to write, "I really need to finish this."

"It's just that last night…" She hesitated. "Well, Shaz and I got into a bit of a drunken row. Over a word. Over the _etymology_ of a word."

He furrowed his brows. One page to go. He flipped to that final page. "I thought you said it was a legal question."

"It is. Sort of."

He let out an exasperated breath, his eyes scanning the final paragraphs. "Some time today, Bridget."

"Fuck."

He dropped his pen. "Excuse me?" he asked, looking to her.

"The word. 'Fuck'."

He pushed the pen and the paper off to his left. "Ah." He had an idea of where this was going.

"So I figured you would know. It's 'fornication under consent of the King', right? They must have taught all about that in law school."

"No."

Her eyes widened. "Really? I would have thought that'd be a first day, really-hook-you-in sort of story—"

"No, I mean, that isn't where 'fuck' comes from."

"Really?" she said again. She looked genuinely surprised, then a little disappointed as she continued, "So Shaz was right then—'for unlawful carnal knowledge'. Signs hung 'round necks and over doorways. Public humiliation for ungodly acts, that sort of thing."

"Um… no."

Her mouth hung open. "Then what _does_ it stand for?"

"It doesn't stand for anything."

"Sure it does," she said, pulling herself to sit fully on the desk, her toes swinging just above the floor. 'Fornication under—"

"It doesn't. And technically speaking," he said, leaning back in his chair, "such permission would hardly be needed."

"What do you mean?"

"For one, married couples don't fornicate."

She burst out with a laugh. "I've heard people say that about marriage, but _honestly_."

"That isn't what I mean. Fornication refers specifically to sex with someone to whom you're not married. Married people already have God's consent to 'go forth and multiply,' so what would they need permission from the King for?"

"Another reason to have hated Smug Marrieds," she commented, crossing her legs at the knees so that her little black skirt rode up dangerously high on her thigh, "and another reason for them to be Smug, I suppose." She turned so her knees were facing him, flexing and pointing her feet so that the curve of her calves were accentuated nicely.

He cleared his throat, willing himself to look away from her legs, but all he could think about was that petal soft skin on the back of her thigh. "Besides. Do you really think, even if such a thing were necessary, that the King had the time to hand out permission slips for people wanting to fuck? He would have gotten no sleep."

She pursed her lips even as his use of the word itself registered surprise in the form of a flickering eyebrow.

"I mean," he said, "you and I alone would have kept him working full time."

She tried to hide her burgeoning smile.

"And it's not like people would let a lack of royal permission stop them," he added, his eyes of their own accord fixing on the convergence point of where her skirt met with where her legs met.

"Certainly wouldn't stop me," she said; seeing his gaze, she uncrossed her legs.

He reached for her bare knee and idly stroked the skin there with his thumb. "As for your second possibility, darling, do you really think they spent the time hand-carving placards with so many fucking words, when 'Adulterer' or 'Fornicator' is much more concise?"

"True." She reached down for his hand, sliding it up the velvety skin of her leg, up under the edge of her skirt. He was very thankful that she'd closed the door and that no one else was still in the office; all this talk of 'fuck' was having a detrimental effect to his self-control. "Then where the fuck does 'fuck' come from, then?"

"Fuck if I know," he said in a gravelly tone, pushing himself up out of his chair, one hand reaching up to cradle her at the back of her head and kiss her ravenously, the other moving higher up between her legs, his fingers meeting the lacy pants then quickly diving beneath them.

Moaning into his mouth, she scooted her hips forward for easier access, and as he drove his fingers up into her, he began nuzzling her neck. "I always used to wonder why you liked such tight little fucking skirts," he said hoarsely.

"Think you know now?"

"Fucking sure of it," he growled into her ear, feeling her hands searching for his trouser button, deftly flipping it open and pushing the zipper down. With her arms now securely around his neck, he moved his hand from her head around to the small of her back, to hold her steady as he stepped forward, claiming her mouth again.

He continued sliding his long, slender fingers into her, pressing his thumb into the nub of nerves through the silk of her pants, pressing his very firm self up against her belly. She groaned and made other rather inarticulate sounds low in her throat until she broke the kiss and tossed her head back, crying out with pleasure. _You'd better fucking hope no one's here, Darcy_ , thought Mark _, because this could get loud_.

"Fuck, Mark," she whimpered between breaths. "Fucking fuck me already."

"I thought I fucking was," he said, placing his lips upon her neck, drawing the skin there between his teeth.

"Not properly," she moaned. "Not, _ohhh_ , fucking properly." He'd withdrawn his fingers and now pulled his hips back, poised to thrust into her properly, as she'd put it.

He leaned forward, brushing over then pressing a palm into the hard bead of her nipple through the silk of her shirt, the lace of her bra beneath that. Into her ear he hotly whispered, "I beg to fucking differ." He took her earlobe between his teeth, biting down with enough pressure to make her squeal, just as, amongst his legal papers, pens, coffee mug, and manila folders, he fucked her right there on the desk.

The moan this dual action elicited was matched only by the strength of her upward thrust; hastily he pushed desktop debris out of his way (including Jeremy's brief— _too fucking bad_ , he thought) and laid her down flat on the blotter, continuing to drive into her, wanting to push the limits of his stamina to see how quickly and how forcefully he could make her come.

If, that is, he could outlast her.

She was alternately muttering "oh fuck" and "oh holy fuck" as he gripped her hips, pulling her up into him with every downward pulse, watching her heaving for breath from her own efforts; he could feel the climax building low in his gut, becoming taut as an elastic stretched beyond its limit, but he continued, determined to hold it at bay until—

She arched her spine up, threw her head back, and made a guttural utterance somewhere between a moan and a scream as she dug her fingers into his shoulders, as he felt her coming around him. This was more than enough to trigger his own release, all the more powerful for sustaining the torturous pleasure before it.

He came to rest on his elbows over her, the desk pressing into his legs, his nose pressed up against her jaw, kissing her throat and breathing unsteadily.

"Holy fuck, Mark," she said, panting.

He couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Is that a fuck by royal decree?"

"Heavenly decree, anyway," she replied, kissing the hair at his temple. "Which, _ohhh_. That did send me to heaven."

He pushed himself up by the elbows to look at her and God, she looked beautiful, rosy and glowing, as she laid there with her eyes closed, her breath settling down to something approaching normal. As if sensing his gaze upon her, she turned her head and directed her eyes at him. They seemed even brighter and bluer than he remembered, and that was really saying something.

She said in a whisper, "There's no way I can go to dinner like this."

"Nonsense," he said, lowering himself to kiss her again. "You look positively fucking gorgeous."

She giggled, tapping his shoulders lightly, an indicator that he should get up; he did, pulling her gently upright by the hands. She was still grinning when she said in a teasing voice, "You're just saying that because you just fucked me."

"True," he said, feigning deep thought as he righted his trousers. "Normally I'd just say you looked 'positively gorgeous', but I have, well, _carnal knowledge_ otherwise."

She smirked. "Wait until I tell Shaz."

He looked at her, his eyes wide with alarm that she'd share in detail—

"That we were both wrong," she added.

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> [My source: Snopes.com](http://www.snopes.com/language/acronyms/fuck.asp) (if you're curious about the known history of the word).


End file.
